


[In Which Outside Forces Resolve the Issue]

by Exal



Series: 12 Conversations About One Thing [4]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Arabic Use, Drabble, F/M, Gen, Orphans, Parent Death, Pregnancy, Shirtless, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29605059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exal/pseuds/Exal
Summary: "My decision is final.  She is named Noire." Postwar, post-marriage, after everything has settled down, this is how Libra and Tharja decide how to name their approaching child.
Relationships: Riviera | Libra/Sallya | Tharja
Series: 12 Conversations About One Thing [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2133747
Kudos: 8





	[In Which Outside Forces Resolve the Issue]

###  **Conversation 4 [In which outside forces resolve the issue]**

Tharja of Plegia was a damned good sorceress. To start, she had been a member of the Shepherds of Ylisse, lionized the world over. In those few years of war and training she had received more experience than many mages obtained in decades. There was also the fact she could count herself as one of those very few chosen people who had stood upon the back of a flying dark god—stood upon it, fought it, and _ridden it down_.

Beyond all that, upon returning to her home of Plegia, Tharja descended back into her studies and curses. Over the next few years, Tharja dove into her research, both theoretical and practical, with half as much again the fervor as ever before. She read—and found sorely lacking—nearly every grimore there was on dark magic. Her spellcasting was now an exacting science, and her hexes and curses were a consummate art. Tharja figured she could write the definitive treatise on cursing, if she had any interest. She had exhausted countless spellbooks and enchanted dozens more. She had even wrested from the aether several curses completely of her own making. She would be _certain_ to make sure her name got attached to those.

Simply put, Tharja, at least in her own estimation, was the strongest living scholar of elder magic in the world. ...Well, except for the exalted tactician Deimos, perhaps, but she was fine with being second to _him_.

Yet Tharja, mistress of all that is unholy, could not get the three kids peering into her workroom to go to bed.

It was late, and Tharja was working on copying an ancient ritual scroll. Tharja didn't even pause scribing runes as her gaze flicked over to the doorway of her sanctum. “You three know I can see you there,” she said.

She heard three tiny inhales followed by silence. They were holding their breaths. Fat lot of good it did to conceal your breathing _after_ you were already found out. “Stop fooling around,” said Tharja, “even if I didn't see you, I have alarm spells on that door. Now come out so I can yell at you.”

Three children, two boys and a girl, shuffled morosely out of the hall. All three were still dressed in their nightclothes.

“Why'd you have to come along?” asked the girl to the taller boy in the group, “We coulda been secret without you. Right?” She elbowed the other boy, her brother. He didn't verbally agree with her, but was clearly discouraged and glared at the other boy.

“Don't blame me,” responded the third child, “you're the ones who were being loud.”

Tharja had known it would be these three. The trio often insisted on...perturbing her.

The sister and brother were Lu and Rei. They were twins, in fact. However, despite possessing identical chartreuse eyes and hair, they were otherwise as different as anima magic and dark magic. 

Lu was irrepressibly curious and active. She was outgoing, ran nearly everywhere she went, and often had skinned knees that needed to be healed. This was tempered by a tendency to get tired easily: sometimes she was left gasping for air after mild excretion. Yet she and her eagerness endured. Even once, when she stumbled across a number of angry scorpions while exploring the desert, Lu was back outside as soon as her stings were mended. 

Rei was far more quiet and observant, and would always pay attention when Libra or one of his acquaintances took a moment to teach. While nearly standoffish, he went along with his sister no matter how far afield they wandered...if just to carry her back home after she injured or exhausted herself. 

The twins often spent time with the second boy, Algiers, a wiry youth, taller and two years older than either of them. While he was far less driven than Lu or Rei, he was the first to try to find useful things. Where Lu and Rei would come back from one of their desert expeditions with nothing save new scratches and the occasional strange smell, Algiers would always have a few gold pieces or wild berries in his pockets. Tharja encouraged this habit, as he often brought home spell components.

The three children were orphans, their parents having been killed in the darkest days of the wars. Tharja's husband had opened his orphanage not a month after the final blow had been struck—not in Ylisse, as he had previously planned, but in a abandoned temple just outside the capital of Plegia. A simple survey of the area, led by Tharja, had shown Libra that he was needed more here than in his home country. Rei and Lu, then only six, were among the first children that had come to live with Tharja and Libra.

Now, the orphanage housed eleven children. Eight were between the ages of five and fifteen, and three were infants. And all of them should have been asleep!

“Firstly,” muttered Tharja to the children, not stopping her quillstrokes, “you know you aren't allowed in my sanctum.”

Rei grumbled, “Miss—”

“Secondly, _I_ know you're supposed to be in bed right now,” Tharja cut in.

“But—” started Lu, but was interrupted just as her brother was.

“And thirdly, _put that back_ , Algiers!” 

Algiers quietly removed the jackrabbit skull from behind his back and placed it back onto the shelf.

“Ma...Miss Tharja,” started Lu, with a snivel, “Father was gonna tuck us in, but then the babies started crying and he went to—to take care of them...and he didn't come back...”

Tharja finished the last of the runes on the line she was writing, and threw her quill into the inkwell on the desk. “So this wasn't just sneaking up on me to spy? You want to be put to bed?” she asked.

“Yuh-huh,” responded Lu. Algiers nodded, just barely.

“And then you'll stay in bed?”

Rei rolled his eyes. “C'mon, Mothe—“ He coughed, swiftly going back on what he was saying. Good for him—Tharja tended to curse kids who called her 'mother.' “Miss Tharja. We promise.”

“Good,” Tharja stated. “Run off, then. Be with you in a moment.”

The three children ran off, giggling. Tharja sighed at her weakness. She never intended to incite giggles.

Tharja took a deep breath and hoisted herself off the chair. The baby inside her kicked, as if annoyed by the interruption. Tharja grimaced. Her due date was less than two months away, and thank the gods for that! As interesting and downright useful as it was to do curse research with access to a pregnant woman, this was becoming infuriating. Everything was already arranged—Tharja had gotten the same witch who was present at her own birth to act as midwife, and Libra had successfully convinced her to have a cleric friend of his attend as well. Tharja barely saw the point, but figured it wouldn't hurt to have a healer around. Now if only the day would come!

Tharja walked down to the kids' rooms, only pausing to make sure she didn't actually have to pee. She reached Rei, Lu, and Algiers's room, peering in.

All three orphans were already on their beds. Rei smiled expectantly at Tharja. Just to spite him, Tharja went to Algiers's bed first.

While summers could get blisteringly hot in the Plegian desert, particularly so near the capital, nights could chill to the bone. While this night wasn't unbearable, it was still quite chilly, with a cool draft blowing in through the window. Algiers, laying on his side, shivered on his mattress as Tharja approached.

Tharja sighed; foolish child! She pulled his quilt up and placed it on Algiers. He murmured in pleasure and curled up underneath the covers. “Alright, go to sleep,” said Tharja, though judging from Algiers's breathing, he might have already had. Sometimes, Tharja wished she had the miraculous abilities of children.

Tharja frowned. Something looked wrong about Algiers. Missing. She looked around, trying to place it, then spied a stuffed animal, a sackcloth simulacrum of a griffon, on the floor. 'There we go,' thought Tharja. She bent down (oof), picked up the griffin, and placed it next to Algiers. Algiers languidly reached out one arm and clung tightly onto the stuffed animal. Tharja rolled her eyes, with a smirk.

Lu was propped up on her elbows on her bed, watching, but as soon as Tharja turned to her, she plopped face-first down on her pillow. Tharja walked over and tucked Lu in in much the same way she had done to Algiers. She was about to leave, but Lu mewled slightly, shifting her shoulders. Tharja sighed and began rubbing Lu's back with one hand, moving in slow circles. She kept gently massaging Lu until, in short order, Lu's breath had turned steady. 

As Tharja turned towards Rei, she saw he, as opposed to his sister and friend, was wide awake. She pulled his quilt over him. “Get to sleep,” Tharja said, “I don't want to curse you out of bed in the morning again.”

“Ohhhh-kay...” Rei said, snuggling under his covers. However, then, he stopped and motioned Tharja closer. When she leaned over, she felt tiny hands clasp her wrist. “Are...are they asleep?” Rei breathed.

Tharja's eyes flashed over to the other two beds; the forms inside were still unmoving. “Yes...?” she said. 

“C-could you...” started Rei, then started whimpering, making a sickening noise from the back of his throat. “P...please...”

“Out with it, Rei,” Tharja ordered.

“Don't go...” he said, still quietly, “Please...stay...”

Tharja sighed again. She had gotten them into bed. That was all that was required, and she had work to get back to. She could leave right now, and there would be no reason to feel bad. But...Rei _did_ sounded downright miserable. And, in all honesty, Tharja liked Rei. He kind of reminded Tharja of herself at that age. When he wasn't being pathetic like this, that is.

“Alright, stop whining,” said Tharja. She sat down on the bed. Her feet appreciated the break.

Rei's hands still clung to Tharja, though nowhere near as tightly. He said nothing, and barely even looked at Tharja. They just stayed still for a while, and Tharja listened to the sound of Rei and Algiers breathing.

Tharja broke the silence. “Is this about Josiah?” she asked, “Is he making fun of you again?”

“N-no,” stammered Rei.

“Don't protect him. You know he shouldn't be taunting you.”

Rei responded. “It's not that. Really. I-I just...want you to be near me for a while.”

Tharja muttered in understanding, and the quiet of the desert night resumed. Rei remained wide awake, and Tharja's mind drifted.

_Rima, Rima, elhinda'a..._

“What's that?” asked Rei.

Tharja started. She didn't even know she had been speaking out loud. “Oh...just a lullaby that my mother used to sing. It's in Classic Plegian, actually. ...Never mind.”

“No,” said Rei, “keep singing. I never heard you sing before.”

That's because I _don't_ sing, thought Tharja, but relented. 

ﺮﻳﻣﺎ ﺮﻳﻣﺎ ﺍﻠﺣﻧﺩﻗﺔ  
ﺸﻌﺮﺍ ﺃﺸﻗﺮ ﻭ ﻤﻧﻗﻰ  
ﻭﺍﻟﻟﻲ ﻳﺣﺑﻚ ﺒﻳﺒﻮﺴﻚ  
ﻭﺍﻟﻟﻲ ﺒﻐﺿﻚ ﺸﻮ ﺒﻳﺗﻟﻗﻰ  
ﻴﻟﻼ ﺘﻧﺎﻢ… ﻴﻟﻼ ﺘﻧﺎﻢ  
ﻻﺪﺑﺣﻼ ﻃﻳﺮ ﺍﻟﺣﻣﺎﻢ  
ﺮﻮﺡ ﻴﺎ ﺤﻣﺎﻢ ﻻ ﺘﺻﺩﻖ  
ﻨﺿﺣﻚ ﻋﺎ ﺮﻳﻤﺎ ﺘﺘﻧﺎﻢ 

By the third stanza, Rei had already drifted off into slumber. Tharja stopped singing, with a vague feeling of being unappreciated, and extracted her hand from Rei's somnolent grip. She stood up, with a bit of effort. She turned to leave, but just heard Rei's whispering voice say, “Night...Mom...” Tharja scowled. He was lucky she wasn't going to curse a sleeping child.

She left the bedroom, closing the door behind her, and ran straight into her husband. Libra managed to stop himself before they actually collided.

“Oh,” said Tharja, distracted by Libra's sudden appearance, “I thought you had gone to take care of the infants.”

“They just needed someone there, for a while,” said Libra, “An's still awake, but Noire is taking care of it.” In sharp contrast to nearly every other one of the Shepherds' future children, Noire had chosen to remain with her parents. Fortunately, she had proven to be invaluable in taking care of the children.

“Oh,” responded Tharja. “Well, the twins and Algiers are asleep, too. I took care of it.”

Libra smiled that amazing smile of his. “I shall assume you mean without magic. Thank you, my dear.”

There was a pause, one that would be awkward with anyone else. Tharja turned to leave, saying “I need to finish something.”

“Tharja...” said Libra. Tharja stopped moving immediately. “I'm sorry. I must again ask--”

Tharja interrupted without turning around. “No. I told you, my decision is final. She is named Noire.”

“I would just like to know why this means so _much_ to you.” There was no anger in Libra's voice, only puzzlement and...disappointment, perhaps? “Noire is a beautiful girl all her own. Do you really need to give the new child her name as well? It feels unfair to her.”

Tharja still hadn't turned around. “I will not repeat myself.”

“Have you at least spoken to Noire about this?” Libra asked.

“She is not the mother of my child. She has no say.”

Libra sighed, and Tharja was surprised—his sigh was not one of annoyance or sadness, but mere acquiescence. “All right. I shall see you in bed, then.” He turned away and left her alone in the hallway.

* * *

Back in her workroom, Tharja found herself unable to concentrate on her scroll. As much as she tried, she couldn't get up the force of will to write. She scowled. With very little new written, Tharja decided to finish the scroll on some other night. She rolled up the vellum and put the scrolls in their respective containers. As she put the scrolls away, she grumbled to herself. If it wasn't one thing, it was another, and this time it was that husband of hers. Libra had let the topic of her unborn child's name drop, for now. He was nice like that. But he would bring it up again, she knew. That polite, calm request for more information...

Honestly, the problem was one of these days she'd finally give up and tell him, and she couldn't have _that_ at all. Yelling at him didn't seem to work, nor the silent treatment, nor anything she had tried. He was always there, just waiting, so politely insistent and...damnably _patient_! Curse that husband of hers!

Wait. Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. Tharja's mind flashed back to the spell she had been attempting when she had first gotten to know Libra—the curse to alter memory. It hadn't worked at all back then, but she had been young and stupid. Now, she had a version of the curse that worked quite well, although not perfectly, as the spell as it was could only change memories less than a year old. It still needed a lot more work. But it could be quite useful here. All she'd have to do is have Libra start believing he had always been fine with naming the child Noire. A simple little enchantment, really.

Tharja's eyes, for no reason at all, fell to her wedding band. Once, Tharja remembered, just before she had received the ring, she had said she wouldn't curse Libra again. She had entered his heart, and after such a trespass, curses were...too damned easy to do. It was like stealing from a close friend—it was far easier, in deed, than stealing from a stranger, but it felt like far more of a violation.

Tharja, as a rule, did not steal from friends, and she had vowed to not curse Libra. But, when it was this much good that was being done, she could break that vow. She'd need a lot of skink tongues...

Determination renewed, and with new and exciting plans racing through her head, Tharja left her sanctum, renewed a few of her simpler security hexes, and headed for the bedroom.

It always took longer than Tharja liked to get anywhere she was going in her house/charity shelter. Long hallways and lots of travel time were facts of life, in a building that housed fourteen people and could handle more, but that didn't mean she had to _like_ them.

In fact, it took her long enough that by the time Tharja reached the bedroom, her child had woken up. The fetus promptly delivered a kick into the base of Tharja's spine. Tharja braced herself on the wall by the door until the discomfort faded. The kid was a fighter, but Tharja already knew that—

...What was that high voice coming from her room? All the children were asleep. Tharja hunched down, as well as she could, at the door, which was cracked open slightly.

Tharja listened. “Just—just let her have her way, okay?” said the voice. Ah, just Noire. Who else was Tharja expecting, really? “Please?” her daughter finished.

“Of course I would let her name the child anything she likes,” responded Libra, “I thought you might have a problem. It _is_ your name as well.”

“Yeah, but...I don't mind. Really,” responded Noire.

“All right, Noire, the matter is dropped.” Hmm. Somehow, Tharja thought she'd be happier with this news. Libra continued, “Is there a reason this is suddenly so important, my dear?”

“Well,” said Noire, “I heard you and Mom talking, and...” Noire paused, in the way that meant she was gathering her courage. “In my future, Mom told me about my name, once. After you—the other you—died.”

“Ah. Can you tell me?” Libra asked.

Tharja almost heard Noire shake her head. “If Mom wanted you to know, she'd tell you.”

Noire's loyalty to her mother, to Tharja herself, was one of her most prevalent traits. It was foolish. It made her eminently manipulable. And it was godsdamned heartwarming.

Her daughter and husband's conversation ended quickly. Tharja stepped back and concentrated for a moment on fading into the shadows. Thus she managed to remain unseen, although Noire emerged from the room yawning and not particularly looking around. Tharja was reminded how much Noire reminded her of Libra, with her sandy hair, her soft eyes, and that quiet, somber, and ever-helpful nature. Tharja grumbled.

Noire left, walking in the direction of her bedroom. Emerging from the night's shadows, Tharja braced herself and walked into her bedroom. “Libra, we have to—oh, by the gods!”

Libra was shirtless. Again. Just once, Tharja wished he would acknowledge just how _ripped_ he was. The man's torso was beautiful, muscles upon muscles upon eight amazing abdominals, and it was simply _not okay_! Libra's chest was the only thing that could curse Tharja with silence.

“Get your nightshirt on,” said Tharja, covering her eyes, “this is important.”

Libra chuckled, damn him. “Alright then,” he said. Once Tharja heard the rustle of cloth, she took her fingers off her eyes. With his nightclothes fully on, she could continue. “We need to talk. Listen up, 'cause I'm only telling you this once,” said Tharja.

“I am all but rapt, my dear,” said Libra. Tharja shot him a look.

“You remember I'm technically Grimleal, right?” asked Tharja, removing her robes for bed.

“Yes. You know that your beliefs matter not to me—besides, I thought most of your fellows were Grimleal.”

“ _Every_ practitioner of dark magic in Plegia was required to be a registered Grimleal,” responded Tharja, “I'm Grimleal, but not observant. Even when I was younger, I only went to services on Walpurgis night and the Feast of the Sacrifice.” Tharja slipped on her nightgown. “Apparently, it was good enough to get me drafted. ...The point is, my whole family, being elder scholars to the last, is Grimleal as well.”

“I don't...” started Libra, but then his eyes widened. “Oh, gods...when the Fell Dragon was resurrected...”

“Fortunately,” said Tharja, climbing into bed, “my grandfather divined the signs correctly and got most of my family out before that murderer Validar prepared the Table and made suicidal zombies out of the faithful. My mother, however, stubborn woman that she was, remained at home. Didn't want to delay her studies, or something.”

“What happened to her?”

“I don't know,” Tharja replied, “She's dead, that much I know. Maybe she was devoured by Grima at the Dragon's Table. Or maybe she was one of the brainwashed scores that stood in our way when we went to kill that oversized lizard. As far as I know, Deimos killed her. Or Chrom. Or Noire. ...Or even you.”

“Tharja...” breathed Libra, “I'm so sorry. If I had—”

“It's not your fault and I won't have you pitying me,” stated Tharja. “There's nothing to pity, anyway. I adored my mother. My father was great too, but he was out supporting the family, so my mother took care of me and schooled me. Up until I turned thirteen, she taught me everything I knew about magic and most of what I knew about everything else. After I started studying on my own, she was always there to advise me, guide me, and admonish me if I did something wrong. She was brilliant and caring, but always so calm and determined. Honestly...you and Deimos remind me a lot of her.” She sighed. “I valued what I had. The fact she's gone now doesn't change that.”

There was a long silence. Finally, Libra spoke. “...What was your mother's name?”

Tharja sighed. “My mother's name was Noire.” She scowled. “There, you got it out of me. The poor little girl wants to name her kid after her dead mother.”

“Why wouldn't you tell me this?” asked Libra, “While I understand and respect your need for privacy, but—”

“Listen to me! I'm describing how I couldn't have asked for better parents, and you're sitting over there with your family who decided you were possessed by demons and threw you off of a moving wagon when you were eight!”

“Tharja,” said Libra, stroking a lock of hair out of Tharja's eyes. “Do you honestly think I would resent you for having a better childhood than I?”

“No,” said Tharja, petulant, “but you _will_ be envious. Just a little bit, but enough. So then you'll feel guilty about being envious, and even worse about being envious of me, and pretty soon you're in a stupid shame spiral and saying twenty Our Goddesses, nineteen Hail Voices, and probably thirty of some obscure prayer I don't know.” She sighed, frustrated. “And it'll all be my fault.”

“I am sorry I make you worry so much.”

“No! Don't be sorry! That's...that's the whole problem.” Tharja's face was scrunched up, and she wasn't sure why.

Libra gave her a calming smile. “'Just be happy,' right?” He asked.

“You being unhappy makes me unhappy,” said Tharja, “You know how selfish I can be.” She grumbled as she got into bed, lying on her side and facing away from her husband.

Without warning, Tharja felt those taut pecs and sculpted abs press against her back. “Well...” Libra said, “Noire is an exquisite name, she will be a beautiful child, and I have a wife who cares enough to try to keep her fortunes from me. I'd say I have everything to be happy about.” A firm arm drew her closer, and, despite herself, Tharja settled into Libra's warmth.

* * *

The next day, Rei told the other children about Tharja's lullaby. Tharja sung her mother's song to everyone that night, and didn't even curse Rei all that much for it.


End file.
